Maid or Lady of the House?
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Mr. Gold and Belle French, two difficult people with failed relationships and a general disappointment in life and love, develop a connection. AU set in modern times.
1. Maid Mania

Maid or Lady of the House?

AN: Rated T for slight mentions of drug use, domestic violence, and alcohol abuse, which incidently make this story sound way more grittier than it actually is. It's humorous with flawed characters that sometimes make bad choices.

* * *

Chapter 1: Maid Mania

Mr. Gold had just fired his fifth maid, this year, and it was only March. What was the problem with maids these days? Why couldn't they just comply to his wishes; it's not like they were that extravagant. Of course, he wasn't the easiest person to work for, as many of his employees could confirm, but still….

He will put an ad in the paper, once again. Hopefully, this time someone competent and not to easily spooked will apply. Mr. Gold is a collector of many things and a amateur alchemist. For both his collection and his hobby, odd, bizarre and scary objects fill his house.

* * *

Belle French is skipping through the paper, looking at the ads, whilst smoking away. She has recently lost her job as a housekeeper for an old couple whose requests got stranger and more eccentric every day. She has some savings, but does need a new job pretty bad. Ever since her divorce, the money has been tight. Not that they were rich during their marriage, quite the opposite. Her ex-husband, Gus, short for Gaston, a name he hated, had a terrible temper and often lost jobs due to his short fuse. His mother had called him Gaston after falling in love with some fairy tale movie and he had been bullied because of it. They never got around to having kids themselves, which was probably a good thing, considering how bad their relationship had gotten in the end.

An ad for a maid grabs her attention. The house in question is pretty large. On the upside there's only one occupant and the pay is considerable, on the downside though, such a good job will probably have many applicants. She has some experience, some references, but also a track record of failed positions, not unlike Gaston. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

* * *

Some odd ten years ago he had been in a car accident. He had been drinking and so had the driver of the other car involved. Fortunately, no-one was killed or seriously harmed, except for himself, that is. He had a limp ever since. The punishment had been a heavy fine and his license had been revoked for a considerable time. He had spent some time in revalidation for his leg. After the accident, his marriage started to go downhill. She was ashamed of his appearance and hated that people knew about the DUI sentence. They had been part of quite a small and gossipy social circle. Milah had begged him to move and eventually he had caved in. Not that it had benefited his marriage, but at the time he had hoped it would.

Milah, now his ex-wife, was remarried to his son's former high school football coach, Kenneth Jones. Due to the accident, he had not been able to play sports with his son. Brant was a successful player and had established a good relationship with his coach. That was why he didn't think that much of it, at first. He didn't always have the time to attend the games, but Milah did, and was well informed of her son's progress.

It wasn't until Brant had smashed the windows of the coach's car, having seen him and his mom earlier that day kissing passionately, that he had found out about it. The divorce had been quick. Brant had lived with him for a while, still being angry at his mother, but now, a few years later, they were estranged. Brant was a sophomore in college. He had forgiven Milah. Kenny had been able to get into his good books again by pulling some strings to get him a place on the college football team. He hardly spoke to his son nowadays.

* * *

Belle hops of the bus and walks the remaining streets towards the house. Gaston had gotten the car in the divorce. As she approaches the house, she becomes nervous. The house and garden are beautiful. She could get used to working here. Belle has had her share of crappy jobs over the years and nice surroundings always helped with otherwise mind-numbing tasks.

* * *

The interview is quite.. different. Belle is called into the home library. Behind a desk sits a polished man looking equally bored and annoyed. A cane rests against the desk. "So you are?" The voice echoes through the room. "Belle French," she answers, using her maiden name. "Ok, let me see, I've got your résumé here. Fine, looks good. Let's get to the questions, shall we?" "Ehm, ok." "Do you have a criminal record?" "No, I don't." "Do you intend to steal, use drugs, use my house as a party venue?" "No, of course not." "Do animals in formaldehyde scare you?" "No, not that I'm a fan." Oops, wrong thing to say, she thinks. He smirks, "Most people aren't." "Could you cook a wholesome meal, say three times a week?" "Sure," so far so good, Belle figures. "Will you arrive on time and do as you're told?" "Within reason," Belle replies, remembering the old couple. He looks at her appraisingly and makes a spur of the moment decision.

* * *

"Well, you seem to have your wits about you, so you're hired." "Just like that?" Belle asks quite baffled. "Sure, I haven't got all day for this nonsense, besides, most of the maids are gone within the month anyway." "You didn't ask anything about my personal life, hobbies, or.." Usually people want a bit more info on their hired help, especially when the maid is the only one at the house during the day. "What's that to me?" he answers rudely. "I couldn't care less. Like I said, most of them don't last that long." "May I know why?" Belle inquires, getting a bit nervous. He did mention animals in formaldehyde; perhaps he did the same to… unsatisfactory maids?

"I seem to be cursed, as far as maids are concerned." He lets out a long sigh. "They steal, give parties in my living room, bedroom even!" He shudders at the memory. "They cook really, and I mean really, bad food. So horrible, I'd rather make it myself, and the smell of burnt chocolate is just.." He shakes his head. "And the last one, well, she was nice, I thought. Clean, and friendly, good food too. I thought I'd finally found a winner." "What happened?" "She started a stray cat shelter in my shed." Belle can't help but giggle.


	2. Home Is Where The Heart Is

AN: Thanks for all the reviews!

Chapter 2: Home Is Where The Heart Is

Belle is strolling through the garden during her lunch break. It's a lovely garden with Roman statues, a small pond with koi, and beautiful roses everywhere. The garden is a stark contrast to, for instance, the room filled with jars and jars of reptiles. Mr. Gold had said that it was all for his research. But he wasn't a scientist, she had asked him. He claimed that he was just interested in nature and its wonders. There's also a room that she isn't allowed to enter. She wonders if she will ever take a peek, but doesn't dare to for the time being. Apparently it contained some toxic potions and highly inflammable objects. It was for her own safety that she should stay away. Who knows, perhaps someday she will get a guided tour?

* * *

When Belle returns to her small but cosy home, after a long day of work―the pay is fantastic, the hours are not― she sees Gus on her porch. His hair is ruffled and his clothes are smudgy. The last thing she needs… "I've been waiting for ages… Where have you been?" "Why do you want to know? Why are you here?" She responds angrily. "Hey babes, I just wanted to see you…" "Gaston," she figures that will piss him off, "We're divorced, remember? That generally means that you don't want to see each other." "I always want to see you, you know that, Belly Boop," he hiccups. "You've been drinking again," Belle snaps. She hates him showing up like this; unfortunately it happens on a regular basis. She had been the one to instigate the divorce but her hopes to be rid of him were unfounded. Belle chooses to ignore him and closes the door with a bang. Hopefully the simultaneous sound of radio and TV will drown out his drunken pleading. Gaston becomes angry and hits the windows, but eventually leaves scolding and swearing. Belle sees his swaying car turn the corner. "Until next time," she whispers bitterly. The rest of the evening feels spoilt as memories of her failed marriage swirl through her thoughts.

Early that morning, she wakes from a nightmare as the covers are almost choking her. She dreamt that she had taken Gaston back as her lover. It was horrible. The dream had started, much like their real life love affair, with stolen glances and awesome evenings. But soon she had discovered his temper, his drinking, his love of gambling and his lack of skill in it. Quite realistic so far. He had, however, suddenly turned into an evil clown wanting revenge. He was about to stab her, whilst manically shouting Belly Boop, Belly Boop, when a cane was thrown through the window and hit Gaston right in the head. Mr. Gold had come to rescue her.

* * *

She reacts a bit shyly to Mr. Gold that particular day, remembering her dream and blushing whenever she thinks of it. Belle doesn't really believe it has any meaning, but still, it makes her look at her employer just a little bit differently. Mr. Gold notices her strange behaviour but doesn't make anything of it. He has his own concerns. He received an alarming email as well as a text message from Brant and doesn't know how to respond appropriately.

_My dear Brant_, no, that's to formal, old fashioned, or is it? Simply _Brant _seems so cold. He finally settles on _Hey Brant_, since that's what he used to write to him, _Hey Dad_. _Your news concerns me greatly, my boy. I never thought you would be mixed up in something like this. I don't understand why you felt the need to do that. Your mum and I didn't bring you up to… _He decides to erase that last line. It sounds too judgemental and he has no right, not when all is said and done. He doesn't know if he should be appalled or flattered that Brant has chosen to discuss this situation with him and not Milah. It could mean that he finally wants to reconcile or it solely means that he doesn't want Milah and Kenneth to know about it.

_This is simply too complicated to address by mere email. Why don't you come over here, or I could come to you and we talk about it. Wouldn't that be far better? I'd like to see you again; it's been too long. _The email wasn't very long, or helpful. But at least he didn't mention the actual issue, just in case; one can never be too careful. He hopes Brant will respond by agreeing to a meeting. It's sad that he will only see his son when he's in trouble but at least he will see him again. Probably. Hopefully.

In a small room in a college dorm, Brant is checking his email. Full of hope, he opens the one with his dad's address on it. A response and so soon! As his eyes read the lines, crinkles appear on his face. He can't believe his dad is suggesting this. He had quietly hoped for some quick fix or smart solution. He was sure he dad would be able to pull that off. Mr. Savvy Businessman. Why does he insist on meeting him? He doesn't need that. Brant hasn't got time for teary reconciliations, or whatever his father's after. He just needs him to wave a magic wand and make everything all right again.


	3. Confessions

AN: Thanks again for the reviews, following and favoriting!

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Chapter 3: Confessions

Mr. Gold is delighted with his son's response. He has reluctantly agreed to meet him, despite his strong initial protests. Mr. Gold had not given in and with success. He will meet Brant tomorrow evening in a hotel near the college town. Belle is confused as she hears him whistling a song. So far, Mr. Gold had been pleasant, very unpleasant and downright nasty, but never happy; he had certainly not been caught whistling. She wonders if she should remark on it.

When she serves his food—he always eats in the stately dining room, a lone soul behind a long table—she carefully mentions it. "Did you have a good day at the office?" He looks up at her, slightly confused. "Why do you want to know?" "Just making conversation, and, well, I heard you earlier…" "Oh, that," he laughs. "Well, if you must know, I'm seeing my son tomorrow and, since it has been a while, I'm quite looking forward to it." "I didn't know you had a" Belle begins, "He's a sophomore in college, so we don't spend that much time together," he answers. "But, as you're asking questions, let me ask one in return. Do you have children?" "No," she stammers. "Why not?" he inquires. When she doesn't reply immediately, he continues, "See, it's not that nice to answer nosy questions, is it? You're lucky I'm in a good mood today, so I won't make you answer mine." He smirks at her. "I didn't mean to pry," Belle says indignantly. "Well, you had me fooled," he responds. Belle flees for the kitchen: a plate with the remains of the first course clutched in both hands.

* * *

The next day, after Mr. Gold has left to meet his son, Belle decides to take a peek in the forbidden room. She is still a bit put out by yesterday's comments. She simply tried to get to know the man, but he was so darned difficult to talk to. Belle had trouble reading his moods and they were very fickle. He seemed to be full of distrust and didn't open up easily. Or when he finally did, he would retaliate, like he had done yesterday. She wants to strike back and so she ventures into the room. It has a lock on it, of course, but Gus had taught her how to pick them. It was a trick he had shown her when they were locked out of their house once, but she realized he was fairly good at it and that had told her something about him and his ways. Still, it's coming in quite handy at the moment. She wiggles a bit, and after a few long and breath-taking seconds the heavy door creaks open. Curiously Belle enters the chamber, tiptoeing silently.

* * *

Mr. Gold is renting a car at the airport. In just an hour or two, he will meet his son again. It had been months since their last encounter. At a cousin's wedding, to be precise, and they had barely spoken to each other on that occasion. So his last meaningful conversation with his son had really been ages. He accepts the car keys and continues his journey. The dullness of the road trip will not put his mind at ease. The long rows and rows of corn and crops will only encourage contemplation. Mr. Gold is still unsure why his son had such a sudden change of heart a few years ago. He'd forgiven his mother and became angry at him instead, his father, but heaven knows why? Mr. Gold had asked him, but the reply had been along the lines of "if you can't figure it out yourself…" So he had held his tongue, bitten it even. And now this, out of the blue, his son does want him. Or needs him at least.

* * *

The room isn't all that impressive. The dark wooden panels are similar to the rest of the house. Stuffed cupboards and cabinets fill the dark room. Belle is slightly disappointed. She really expected there to be some big reveal about her employer locked away in this chamber. But it is just a room. Full with an assortment of things, Mr. Gold's weird stuff, basically just like some of the other rooms. Belle sees some potions and jars filled with beads, or stones. One of the jars is filled with sparkling fluid and another with smoke, or gas maybe. He did say some objects might be highly inflammable. She walks around a bit, mindful not to touch anything, and is about to leave again, when she sees a spinning wheel. It's old but beautiful and she come closer to admire the wonderful craftsmanship. As she takes a closer look, Belle notices something odd. The thread seems to alter, both the color and structure changed. When she touches it, she suddenly becomes aware that she is touching gold. She is holding actual gold. Belle freaks out a little. What is this thing? What is he doing in here? She quickly leaves the room and fervently hopes her employer will never find out that she entered it.

* * *

Mr. Gold is sitting in the lobby waiting for his son. The hotel is impersonal and dreary. Soulless chandeliers fail to provide the desired result of grandeur and splendidness. A few randomly placed tables, chairs, and couches don't enhance the atmosphere either. Perhaps it's his refined taste that's the real problem though, or maybe just the sad reason for his own presence here. He would have preferred the hotel bar for a meeting, but his son hasn't reached the right age yet. Because Brant texted he'd be late, he did have a drink at the bar earlier, and had gotten unwanted attention from a scantily dressed woman as well as curious questions about his life from the barman: bartenders being the cheap and secular equivalent of shrinks and priests alike. Mr. Gold lets out a sigh. Why where people always so adamant to put their noses into other people's business? He never did that. He really couldn't be bothered and didn't think people, or their secrets and problems, were all that interesting in the first place. Even his maid had been on a fishing trip into his thoughts.

She had expected him to be more interested in her at the interview. But he wasn't, well, not then he wasn't. She had grown on him though, these last few weeks. He finally seemed to have found a decent maid in Belle French, albeit a nosy one. His son's voice gets him out of his contemplations. "Brant!" He greets him, wanting to add "looking good man," but he doesn't, since Brant doesn't look so well. He looks weary and strangely pale. "My boy, my boy," he says instead. "Please, don't dad. I'm alright." Brant quickly ducks from the hug his father wants to give him. An awkward silence follows.

They decided to take a room in order to talk in private. Brant had gotten some concerned looks at reception. He was very pale, indeed. Now, they are seated across each other in the suite. "Ok, can you tell me, from the start, how you got into this pickle?" "It started with a joke, a bet. One of my team mates said that it gave a real boost and helped with performance in sports. So I tried it out and it really did work. My achievements got better and better so I kept using it." "So, it's amphetamines we're talking about…" Mr. Gold states the obvious, since his son had already mentioned it earlier. "Yes, but that's not the only problem, though. The other is that my coach knows about it. He found out about it a couple of days ago." "What, you didn't tell me that!" his father shouts frustrated. "Any solutions there might have been, would have been in secrecy, in absolutely no one knowing about all of this. Has he kicked you off the team?" "No, he has not. I made a deal with him, and some of the other guys use the stuff as well, so…" "A deal? What kind of a deal?" Mr. Gold asks, shocked by these revelations.


	4. Time To Decide

AN: So, I've added white lines in the dialogue since I received various comments on that; hopefully it will improve readability.

Chapter 4: Time To Decide

Mr. Gold has returned from his visit to his son. He is in a very bad mood. Belle hasn't seen him like this before. Something must have happened but she will not ask him. Definitely not. She hasn't forgotten the last time she tried to ask questions about his personal life. Belle is worried that he might notice that she peeked into the forbidden chamber. Especially in his current state of mind, that could be the end of her time here. She had left the room so quickly that she isn't sure if she has knocked something over or has left any sign of her presence there. Belle's worries are unnecessary, however. Mr. Gold is worried as well. He is too distracted by his son's troubles to notice, well, anything really. Only this morning he almost bumped into a car, and yesterday, he totally forgot to turn off the gas burner that he used in experiments. Luckily Belle was perceptive.

* * *

One afternoon he enters the chamber. Belle is holding her breath, expecting him to storm out of the room at any time accusing her. Mr. Gold doesn't. When Belle is ready to leave for the day, he still hasn't come out of the room. Hesitantly she knocks on the door. "Yes," he answered, sounding impatient and prickly.

"I'm off now. Unless, you need anything?"

"Yes, peace and quiet, and not to be disturbed by curious maids!"

"Goodnight then," she said. He didn't reply.

When she arrived the next morning, she found the bed unslept in and no traces or signs of dinner nor breakfast in the kitchen, nor dining room. "What's this?" she muttered to herself. She continued to make her way throughout the house calling out his name. Her last stop was the chamber and as she is about to knock, he opened the door.

"You're back already?" he snapped at her.

"Have you been in here all that time?" Belle asked whilst craning her head to take a look inside. He slammed the door in her face and she bumped her nose.

"You are unbelievably rude, Mr. Gold!"

"So are you!"

As punishment, Belle had accidently slipped too much salt on his potatoes. Mr. Gold had not given her the satisfaction of a crinkled face, but aimed to take some form of revenge. It might take his mind of his son's problems. He turned out to be a chip off the old block making unrefusable deals. The coach was heavily involved in match-making—rigging end results of games that is, not teaming people up romantically—and the players could therefore get away with their own vices. Mr. Gold might have known that the coach was no good when Kenneth Jones managed to realize a place on the team for Brant. However, Brant seemed to have the situation under control for the time being. At least his deal would prevent the coach from turning him in.

* * *

A question is burning on his mind. Mr. Gold is sitting in his home office going over some legal papers. The office is dark and gloomy; he is never been bothered by that before but now it seems so ominous. His attention slips away from the matter in hand to his son's problems. Should or shouldn't he contact Milah? The thought of having to talk, or God forbid, see her again isn't very appealing, nor is breaking Brant's trust. On the other hand, he is their only child and lost in quite a severe situation. Meeting Kenny isn't going to be fun, although he could interrogate him about the coach. Determine whether or not he is involved somehow, figure out how much Kenneth actually knows about this guy. The image of taking his anger out on Milah's second husband brings much needed pleasure. Perhaps he should take one of the heavier canes with him….

A quick call with Brant does not help his struggle. He sounds bad. Sick and tired. His young joyful fun-loving boy seems to have altered into this burdened young man with more troubles than he himself. Being familiar with the pull of alcohol, he can't really blame him. Of course, he wants to be a good player, not let the team down. Any assistance would be eagerly accepted as a means to an end. He curses whoever made the bet and dragged his son into this. Mr. Gold muses over the issue, the phone still in his hand, forgotten as he is deeply lost in thoughts. Feeling out of his debt on this one, he decides to dial the dreaded number. One of his stuffed foxes is staring at him with traces of a sneer on his face. Mr. Gold turns his head as the phone is picked up on the other side.

* * *

"Belle, I'm going to need you to polish the silver.." Mr. Gold came stumbling into his walk-in closet where Belle was arranging his clothes. "Oh, and also this." He pointed at a cane with a big silvery nob on it: one of the many on display behind a glass door.

"Polish the cane?"

"Yes, it needs to be dazzling. I've got important, though nasty, visitors coming to dinner tomorrow night."

"May I ask who?"

"Yes, you may. It's my ex-wife and her new husband, so it will make for a very pleasant evening."

"Interesting, no doubt."

"I want you to prepare the best meal you can, with the following ingredients..." A long list of delicious ingredients followed, and Belle dutifully scribbled them down on the notepad he shoved into her hands. Mr. Gold was looking forward to seeing Milah eat her least favourite fish dish and to witness Kenny struggle with the fish knife and fork. The rest of the evening, he wasn't too sure about. He had finally decided that Milah needed to know as they should try to find some common ground on how to help their son. Hopefully they'll be able to agree on something for a change…


	5. The Meal I

Chapter 5: The Meal I

"Everything going well?" Mr. Gold stepped inside the kitchen to check on the progress. All the surfaces were sparkling except for the largest one where Belle was preparing several courses: soup, fish, dessert. She was stirring the creamy mushroom soup and looked up with a smile on her sweaty face.

"Yes, it's been a while since I've done this kind of elaborate meal, but I've found these amazing recipes."

Mr. Gold bustled about stirring in pots and pans, sniffing and tasting. "Good, good. All seems in order." Belle smiled. "Well done, well done. If they hate it, you might get a pay rise."

"What? Why should they hate it?"

"Didn't I tell you? Milah isn't that fond of fish and her husband, well, he's got the taste of a… I can't find a word insulting enough."

"So, I'm doing all this for nothing?"

"Not for nothing, my dear.. of course not. I like fish myself, and may I say that it tastes delicious. Simply divine!" He looked at her sweaty brow and added: "Perhaps you need a cloth or something…" He dove into the kitchen cupboards that presented him with the necessary equipment. Mr. Gold took a soft white dish cloth and bound it on her head. "There you go." His soft touch made Belle blush ever so slightly.

His eyes were sparkling as he walked out of the door. Belle shook her head; she would never understand what made him tick. All that good expensive food for people who might not even appreciate it!

* * *

The chilly atmosphere in the dark dining room revealed the tension between the guests and Mr. Gold. Seated opposite him at the large table were Milah and Kenneth. She was taking in her surroundings with contempt—such a gloomy room, such a gloomy mansion, just like its occupant—he was wiggling uneasy in his rosewood chair lined with red plush, unaccustomed to such grandeur. The meal itself went as planned. Sour faces from the couple and a taste of revenge for Mr. Gold: seeing the amount that was left over on the two plates across him ensured him of his expectations that they did not like fish or knew how to eat it properly. However, the fun part of the evening was over. Let the battle begin, he thought to himself as he sighed. Milah looked up at him and began to speak again.

"Now that you've had your fun, dearie…" She smirked, using his old endearment. "Time to talk about Brant, I think.. What was it that had you so worried that it made you summon us like some ancient wizard?" She laughed at her own joke and so did Kenny.

Mr. Gold clenched his teeth. "Sadly to say there is nothing laughable about the matter. Brant is in some serious trouble, I'm afraid, and Kenneth's old friend is partly responsible." Milah's mouth fell open in shock as her piercing eyes looked from her old husband to her new one. He frowned surprisingly to indicate he knew nothing about the situation.

"Just state your problem with Kenny, will you?! Stop playing these awful games of yours!" Milah thunderously demanded an explanation as she generally did with everyone around her. Just at that moment, Belle arrived with the dessert; balancing a tower of puffs filled with cream. "Oh, you naughty man, you know what that will do to my figure! You're doing it on purpose," Milah pouted and complained.

"Nobody forces you to eat it, my dear... Although I must say that it would be a terrible waste of my new maid's cooking skills. She has worked all day on these courses and will take it as a personal insult if it remains untouched…" Belle opened her mouth to protest but her employer gave her a stern and warning look. She closed her mouth again and managed to look offended.

"Oh, well, perhaps just a few could be nice. It does look marvellous, my dear." She complimented Belle in a patronising tone and waited for her to leave before she continued her tirade. "I see you've found yourself a winner this time?"

"Certainly looks like it," her new husband replied, only to receive a harsh pat on his arm by his lovely wife.

Milah had always been jealous of their maids, even if her first husband had never given her any reason to, simply the idea of another woman who might possibly steal away attention from her was unbearable, which was precisely the reason she employed only women over fifty, preferably sixty, nowadays. Not that it stopped her new husband from taking an interest in them. She didn't wait for Mr. Gold's answer. "So tell me. What is it about Brant? And why do you still have this need of blaming my dear Kenny for everything? It is so childish." She put her hand possessively on her husband's torso which almost made Mr. Gold choke on his delicious cream puff in disgust.

After he finished coughing, Milah smiling very encouragingly and Kenny laughing out loud, Mr. Gold began the story. How Brant was using drugs for his performance. How it did actually enhance his performance for a while and how many of his fellow teammates used it as well. When he came to the part about the coach, having been interrupted various times by Milah making accusations blaming him and his lack of parenting skills for Brant's problems, his eyes narrowed and he had eyes only for Kenneth. Could he make out any signs of Kenny already knowing about this?

Kenneth did seem even more fidgety than before: a sure sign he must be hiding something. Mr. Gold rose up from his chair without warning and bashed his polished cane on the antique table. The sound of crashing wood made everyone jump, including Belle who was waiting, and listening, in the kitchen, behind closed doors. "What do you know, Kenneth?" he shouted as cream puffs were rolling over the floor.

"Nothing, nothing," his voice trembled, "except perhaps…"

"Except perhaps what?!" Mr. Gold demanded.

"Well, you remember me and Milah," he glanced at his wife in despair, "getting into Brant's good books by getting him into the college football team…"

"Only too well," Mr. Gold replied whilst gritting his teeth, "only too well."

"I got him in. I did him a favor, the coach, so he owed me one and… well…"

"Please continue, I'm sure we'd love to hear it…" Mr. Gold was in fighting mode and Milah, worried for another outburst, egged her new husband on.

"I have contacts. I introduced him to various bookmakers, other coaches, giving him a piece of the action as it were. Some extra money for his retirement, you know…" Milah responded shocked at these revelations. Mr. Gold sensed that her shock was genuine. Going from a husband with a DUI to a down-right game rigging criminal; he supposed there was some sense of justice in that.

"I take it you've being doing the same, at the high school level, that is?" Mr. Gold inquired. Hesitantly Kenneth agreed, pleading for Gold's silence.

"I'm afraid I cannot guarantee that, but perhaps it will not come to that. Brant is more important, after all. And if, IF, I let you off the hook it is only for his sake, for the protection of his future!"


	6. The Meal II

AN: Thanks for the reviews! So, here's the rest of the dinner and its aftermath… Alas, Belle is not as supportive as Mr. Gold would like her to be…

* * *

Chapter 6: The Meal II

Milah jumped at this opening: his mention of their son. "Yes, let's get back on track. I'm here to talk about Brant, not… not all that other stuff.." she ended lamely. Her eyes were asking the both of them to please, please calm down a bit. "It's more important than anything else, I'm sure even you can agree on that!" This was directed directly at Mr. Gold himself, who reluctantly agreed and sat down in his chair.

So here they were, seated amongst a mess of a dining room, a wrecked table and carpet, cream puffs everywhere, these three tormented people with their wrecked relationships. Milah couldn't keep up appearances any longer and began to sob. Quietly at first, but soon she was howling dramatically. Eventually both men tried to console her, whispering well-meaning words of comfort to a devastated mother. "He's my only child, my little baby boy. I want him to have a good life," she sniffed. "We need to do something… What can we do?"

A few minutes later as Milah had regained her composure and both men had agreed to postpone any hostilities for the remainder of the evening, they started working on a plan. Milah would talk to Brant, Kenny would accompany her and they would stage an intervention. They'd take Brant with them—Mr. Gold had made inquiries and had found a spot for Brant in a rehab facility should he choose to take it—drag him if need be, and try to help him get treatment. The college would be notified that Brant was "ill" and Mr. Gold would arrange a recommendation from a doctor stating that Brant needed immediate treatment; he knew one who'd be perfect for that task. A certain Dr. Whale who'd been caught—by Mr. Gold who acquired illegal chemicals from him for his alchemy experiments—conducting non-approved medical research involving misplaced bodies. Dr. Whale had been a most friendly friend and ally ever since, and was always at his beck and call, much to Mr. Gold's pleasure.

Near the end of the visit Milah went to freshen up, Belle showed her the guest bathroom, and the two men were left to each other's company. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, with the two women upstairs and out of sight, he could finally have it out with Kenny. "So, Kenneth," he whispered maliciously, "you're in quite a spot of bother and at my mercy…."

Kenny seemed to shrink, having these dark dead eyes staring at him had such a devastating effect. "I'll do whatever you want, as long as you don't inform the authorities. I can't lose my job, I might lose Milah, please…"

"Tomorrow when you're collecting Brant, I also want you to meet with the coach. Tell him a powerful man knows about his little extra source of income. He is to await instructions and has to cover for Brant should anyone make further inquiries."

"But, but…"

"No buts."

"He is not such a powerless man himself, you know." Kenneth warned him. "He has friends in high places. That's why he teaches at college; he isn't a better coach than me. Even worse I'd say." Kenny stuck out his chest. "He got there through connections. The very same that help him 'aid' his team's performance."

"Who are we talking about here?" Mr. Gold was becoming anxious now. It appeared there was more to this story than he thought. Simply bullying or blackmailing his son's coach was supposed to be the solution… And did he hear it right? The coach encouraged drug use in his team? Mr. Gold was engulfed with a strong desire to smash the man's skull in.

"This power couple. Well, not couple exactly. A mother and daughter, heavily invested in college sports. They aim for the top and always have. Very attractive, the both of them."

Mr. Gold shook his head and grinded his teeth. Kenny, the airhead… Kenneth continued his story: "Whatever team they back, wins, does well. They are not discriminatory and back all sorts of sports, not just football. However, only college sports, perhaps because they are just a little less under scrutiny giving them the freedom to…hmm.. sell their goods. To athletes and others, basically everyone that wants to enhance their skills, academically or otherwise."

"This is worse than I imagined. However, the original plan might still work." Mr. Gold was thinking on his feet now, "If they hear about the coach's doings, they'd punish him right? Perhaps even worse than I would. He might make the team win, but also occasionally lose to get the right results. He shouldn't meddle with these drug lords, ladies... Anyway, it'll be an extra incentive for him to keep his mouth shut about Brant."

"So, I still should do what you just said that I should do?"

"Yes! Yes, you should. Talk to the coach, threaten him if you have to, explain that he doesn't want these ladies to hear about this."

"I can do that. I could so do that!" Kenny was happy he got the opportunity to shine. Mr. Gold might be smaller than him but he was so intimidating; Kenneth could easily handle the coach though. The thought of being the hero made him smile a crooked smile.

* * *

After they finally, finally left, Mr. Gold went to see Belle in the kitchen. She had cleaned up and the kitchen looked good as new. Since the two guests hadn't eaten much, requesting small plates, they would have another day of this fine food. "Looks like you might be able to taste it yourself as well, tomorrow," Mr. Gold said as he helped her put away the last few filled containers.

"I'd like too. It seemed pretty good, if I say so myself." Belle smiled, a little uncertain, not quite sure if his good mood had returned or not. She dared to question him nevertheless. "Did you just vandalise your own dinner table in there? Such a beautiful piece of furniture!" She looked a bit angry at him. He didn't seem to appreciate what he had, at all. His angry outburst had shaken her up quite badly. Just as she was beginning to like him more…

"Yes, sorry about that… My anger gets the better of me sometimes. It was a pretty old table though, belonged to my grandmother. I've always hated it, actually." He grinned at her and suddenly looked ten years younger. Belle couldn't help but join him.

"Still, that's no reason to kill it," she continued. "I kinda liked it." He looked at her in wonderment, puzzled why she'd be so upset about it. He had other things on his mind, a broken table was definitely the least of his concerns.

"Perhaps it could be mended?" He suggested. How to console his maid? Wait, a minute, why would he want to anyway? Mr. Gold was even more confused now that these thoughts entered his mind. Since when did he start caring so much about what his maid wanted, or didn't want? He had defended her during dinner. Sure, it was mostly to aggravate his ex-wife, but still, he had done so. He felt a sudden need to push her away again, but for unknown reasons he couldn't. Mr. Gold couldn't think of anything insulting to say or do. He could, however, only think of how beautiful she looked. How sweet, even when a little angry and disappointed. How she had let him tie the soft white dish cloth over her forehead, how she almost forgot to take it off when she answered the door earlier that evening.

"I hope so. It would be such a waste if it ended up in the fireplace." Belle really seemed to take offense at this. Mr. Gold sighed. He preferred more pleasant subjects.

"It did work though. He was like putty in my hands after that." Mr. Golds laughs heartily. "He coughed up everything and more! And Milah, well, she'll think twice before she trusts him again."

"You seem pretty happy about it. Pushing everyone like pawns on a chessboard." Seeing this violent side of her employer had not warmed her heart at all. If anything it reminded her of Gus. Which was so sad because earlier, with the dish cloth, and even just now helping her in the kitchen, he was such a nice guy. Friendly and warm. This other side of him was frightening, leaving her confused and worried.

"Fine, whatever. I would have like to have chatted a bit, discuss the evening, but you are clearly not in the mood. You're not an easy one to please, Belle French. I should refrain from showing your disapproval so openly though, as I am your employer in case you'd forgotten."

Before she could reply, her boss had left the scene. The sound of the door rattling in its hinges echoed in her mind for hours to come.


	7. The Day After

Chapter 7: The Day After

Mr. Gold had trouble sleeping that night. His mind kept spinning over his son, his ex-wife and her partner, but also his maid. He tried to put Belle French out of his mind, but she insisted on coming back. He was glad that Milah would be the one to coach Brant into rehab, even though he felt like a coward over it and feared his son's retribution. Hopefully Brant wouldn't return to his old method of shutting him out of his life. Perhaps rehab would finally bring out a few of the unspoken issues between the two of them. The thought both pleased and frightened him. What if Brant told him things he didn't want to hear?

* * *

A carpenter had been called to look at the table the following morning: one that specialized in antique furniture. He had been appalled at the sight of the demolished rosewood and the prognoses were not good. He would try his best, but probably to no avail. Mr. Gold had insisted that he tried, being very aware of Belle listening in on their conversation, pretending to wash the windows. When he escorted the man out, he asked for something else. If the table really was beyond repair could he perhaps make a smaller table out of it: he might consider giving it as a gift to a certain lady friend. The carpenter laughed and tapped the side of his nose in a gesture of understanding.

"Are you satisfied?" Mr. Gold asked her after he entered the dining room again. "I've tried my best, but it doesn't sound too well." His voice faltered ever so slightly. She didn't reply which annoyed him to no end. "I know you are listening Belle, and you were listening in just now. You've cleaned those windows three days ago, or did you think I wouldn't notice?"

She turned around. "I didn't think you would, no. So you do see everything I do around here then?"

Is she flirting with me? He briefly wondered. "Of course," he replied graciously. "How couldn't I? You've changed my dusty castle into a fairy tale one, complete with shining candles and smelly roses and…" The shrill sound of the phone ended his sentence for him. It was Brant and he was not happy.

"Mom is here to pick me up. She is staging a ff-ing intervention; she and Kenny!" Brant's voice carried throughout the room. Belle couldn't help but overhear. "How could you have told them! How could you! I trusted you!" With that the phone call ended. Mr. Gold shook a little and clutched his cane for support. Soon he was brought to tears and unable to help them streaming down his face. His son felt betrayed because he had broken their bond of trust; he had lost his son again. He didn't notice Belle until she was standing right before him holding out her handkerchief. Mr. Gold gratefully took it.

The concern in her eyes was almost too much. It made his eyes water again. "Thank you," he whispered. "I've been having a rough time lately…"

"I know." She smiled sympathetically. "Milah told me a bit about it yesterday. She is quite something though…"

"Oh yes, she is." He smiled. "We were pretty well matched in the fireworks department."

"More like bombs and grenades, I think," Belle suggested. "Hence the mess in here…"

"Her new husband is not so well versed. A complete pushover. She must be bored out of her skull with him…"

"Maybe she likes the peace and quiet…."

"Are you teasing me? Belle, Belle!" He shouted after her but Belle quickly ran out of earshot, leaving Mr. Gold to ponder over, well, everything…

* * *

"You'll be fine, baby, just fine. It will all work out, you'll see." They were standing in the hall of the rehab facility. The building was spacious and beautiful, with stained glass windows letting in light in all its colors, but Brant didn't notice it. Milah held her son's face in her hands as she said goodbye. He shrugged her away. He'd just had the intake interview and now it was time for them to leave him here. To leave him behind.

"I am not your baby anymore, mom. You're embarrassing me."

"Good luck mate." Kenneth didn't know what else to say but gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "See you soon." They left the building and Brant stared at them. If only he hadn't confided in his dad. He hadn't told his mother on purpose, knowing full well it would lead to this. But his dad betraying him like that? He never saw it coming.

"Let's have a look at your room then, shall we? Let you settle in…." The nurse guided him to his room. The worst part was about to begin…

* * *

Belle came home that evening only to find Gus on her doorstep again. He was wearing a greased jeans jacket and going by the cigarette stubs seemed to have smoked half a package already. She was about to turn around and walk another block but he'd already spotted her. The small bushes that surrounded her tiny garden were not enough to hide her. "Hey Belle, there you are! I've been waiting to catch up…."

"Oh, Gus. Why do you keep doing this? Stop pursuing me! What do I need to do? Beg you, give you money, what? Why can't you just leave me alone!" Her frustration showed very clearly and caused his mood to darken.

"I just want to see you. Talk to you, maybe more?" She pushed him aside, but he grabbed her arm. "You must be lonely at night, in this small blue house of yours. I bet you're thinking of me all the time. How life could have been different… better, so much better!"

Belle tried to get out of his grip but he was strong and didn't let go. He was breathing on her face, attempting to kiss her. She had to be careful… "Gus, Gus, sweetie," she began.

He looked appreciative. "That's more like it. Let me be your sweetie… I promise I'll be good.."

"I'll tell you what. Let's go to dinner together. My treat!" Anything to get him away from her house.

"Like old times. I like the sound of that… Very much. And after dinner we could have our own little party, celebrate us!" Belle let him think what he wanted; she just wanted to get out of here. Having Gaston across a diner table was less hassle than at her house trying to come in. They left in his car, Gus jubilantly and Belle pretending to be the same.

* * *

Mr. Gold received a call. He was watching an old James Bond movie, not taking anything in and sipping his whiskey, when it disturbed him. It couldn't be Milah as she had called earlier to relate Brant's safe arrival at rehab. She had been slightly teary but pleased he was getting help. They'd actually had a good talk, being connected by their love for their son and their mutual aim of getting him back on his feet. It was Milah's current husband, Kenny, that was calling him now.

"Sorry to call you this late. It's been awfully hard to get away from her for a second. It's like she is glued to my hip."

"She is just upset about Brant. Milah needs your support." Mr. Gold couldn't believe he was hearing himself give advice to his replacement in love. Did the jealousy subdue? He was absentminded for a moment. Yes, it had. He didn't want Milah back… He wanted.. Who did he want? Did he want anyone? He knew the answer to the question all too well but didn't want to think about the implications.

"Gold, are you still there?"

"Yes, yes, sorry about that. What's the news? How did it go?"

"It wasn't easy to track him down, but I did manage to talk to him. He won't talk. He is very upset that so many people know about this now. Paranoid that they will find out. He could lose his job, go to jail, get beaten up or worse by their enforcers…"

"Good, he'll know to stay silent then. That gives us an opportunity to sort this out."

"What do you mean? Haven't you dealt with it now?"

"Eh, no, I don't think so. That man is selling, distributing, I don't know what. Members of the football team are using drugs, some 'ladies' are behind it. This problem isn't going away: it needs to be eradicated at the roots."

"Eradi…. What? Surely you don't mean to go after these women? Take them down? Are you out of your mind!" Kenny was screaming through the phone. "Gold, you are crazy if you're going to do that! Gold, don't hang up on me!" Mr. Gold already had. This was going to take a lot of planning and research, not to mention money, but it was a very exciting challenge. His eyes gleamed at the thought of taking down the ones responsible for his son's fate.


	8. Requests

AN: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 8: Requests

A week had past. Gus hadn't bothered Belle in person anymore but kept calling her throughout the day on her cell phone. She had told him her employer did not like it but he wasn't easily discouraged. Getting away from the diner was easy as he met a few fellow gamblers and had drunk more than his fair share of beer—they'd especially chosen one that served hard drinks—on her tab. She had left him there and taken the bus home. The downside was that he now seemed to think that she wanted him back. Belle sighed. What could she do to get away from this man?

"Something on your mind, dearie?" The voice of her boss shook her out of her day-dream-nightmare. She had been standing with a mop in her hands scrubbing the tiles in the hall, not moving at all for a few minutes, which had caught his attention.

"No, nothing," she began, but changed her mind. "Actually, Mr. Gold, I wondered…"

"Yes, what is it?"

"You know, these phone calls? It's my ex, he, well, he won't leave me alone. It's getting a bit trying. Grating on my nerves actually." She was biting her lips and took a deep breath. "Perhaps you could…help?"

"What do you think I could do? Give him a firm lecture? Pay him off somehow?"

"I don't know. It's silly to even ask, but I guess you should know about it anyway, in case.."

"In case of what? Belle, what is it you're not saying…?"

"He, Gaston, Gus, he, he used to be quite… quite aggressive and I've found a way to manage him somewhat, but it's not what I wanted out of life. So I got a divorce but that didn't really stop him. It hardly even discouraged him and… I mean, it's not like I want to make a run for it, but sometimes it feels like that might be the only real solution…."

"You would like me to discourage him from harassing you? I could arrange that, you know.." She nodded but became instantly worried.

"Just don't, I mean, he shouldn't be harmed or hurt. At least, not seriously. I don't want to get into trouble, and I did, at one time care…" Her voice trails away.

"Leave it with me. Don't worry about it anymore. You should worry about other things such as doing my laundry or painting those garden chairs or actually mopping these floors." A wide grin appeared on his face as she pretended to hit him with said wet mop.

* * *

The next day, Mr. Gold came home late from the office only to be informed that he had yet another meeting. Belle said that a young lady was waiting in his home office and wanted information regarding Brant. "Who is she? Not a journalist, I hope? Or maybe an undercover cop, infiltrated at his college?" Belle laughed and said that he watched too much TV, except that he didn't actually.

Mr. Gold peered through his office door window. The young woman was standing in front of his bookcases looking at the many volumes and the stuffed animals. She didn't seem intimidated by them, whereas most people were slightly freaked out when they first met his rare collection of vicious beasts. He wondered whether this was a good or bad sign. Mr. Gold then raised himself to his full height and opened the door. He told the young woman—blond hair, tough looking—that she could take the chair opposite him and asked her what brought her here. She answered that she wanted to know where Brant was. "Why do you want to know?" he replied, carefully gazing at her.

"I need to tell him something… something important. I… I would like to do so in person."

"Brant isn't here. He is ill and needs his rest."

"As his father surely you know where he is?"

"I do but that doesn't mean I will tell you." He saw the young woman fidget with her bird shaped necklace, but not giving in. It appeared she was a fighter, this one. "Tell me, what exactly does your relationship with my son consist of?"

She giggled at his odd phrase, despite her worries. "Well," she decided to be honest, "It exist of the sort of thing one usually doesn't share with parents…"

"So you're his girlfriend..." She nodded. "And your name again..?"

"I didn't tell you yet. It is Swan, Emma Swan."

"How romantic." He couldn't help the sarcasm. "So what? You miss him, need to see him desperately? Or is there something else entirely?"

"What's wrong with him anyway? What sort of disease does he have?" Both Emma and Mr. Gold were now holding a staring contest. Neither of them budging, neither providing any useful information. Belle was listening at the door, inwardly laughing at the stubbornness of both. This was far better than soap operas.

Finally Emma gave in. "Fine, you want to hear it, fine! I'm pregnant, what else could there be?" She looked at him defiantly. He wasn't shocked. She'd already said it, what else could it be?

"And you what? Want money, pay for the procedure, what? Think, here's some rich guy, his parents will pay?"

"I don't need your money!" Emma was genuinely offended. "Why would I want that? I want to talk to Brant. I want to know where he is and I want us to decide what to do together!" She was angry and becoming more so each minute.

He replied as she had a moment before. "Fine, you want to hear it, fine! You'll be sorry, unless you already know about it, that is…" His eyes narrowed. "Brant is in rehab. He isn't allowed to see anyone just yet, not his parents, let alone a pregnant girlfriend."

"In rehab?"

"I take it you didn't know then?" She shook her head. No, she didn't. Emma became quite pale. The shock and the heat were getting to her. Mr. Gold called for Belle to come and bring a glass of water. Her swift arrival told him she had been eavesdropping once again.


	9. Cat And Mouse

Chapter 9: Cat And Mouse

The group of mostly young people were seated in a circle. Some were animated and lively, others were sitting solemnly, staring out of the window or wiggling in their seats. A serious red-haired man wearing glasses and old-fashioned clothes, cleared his throat.

"My name is Dr. Hopper, but you can call me Archie." A nervous smile on his face as he desperately tried to overcome the gap between his clients and himself. It was the first group therapy session for both Brant and the new therapist. "Today we will discuss boundaries and peer pressure which are both intimately connected. Many of you will have first discovered your drug of choice in a social setting." He continued for a while explaining the goal of the session but Brant wasn't listening anymore.

"Would you like to share?" Brant's cheeks turned red as he noticed the entire group staring at him.

"Ehm…. I'd rather not."

"Very well, but participation is very helpful for your recovery." The therapists eyes lingered for a few seconds on his face before he turned to a dark-haired young man named August who started a long story about his former girlfriend Tamara who had been quite the partier.

Brant's thoughts turned to Emma, his girlfriend. Too bad he wasn't allowed to call anyone yet. He would so like to get in touch with her. See how she was doing and explain why he left so suddenly. She had been in a strange mood for a few days but hadn't said anything when he had expressed his worries. He smiled. She was proud and liked to face and solve her own problems. That was one of the things he liked so much about her.

* * *

"I told you Brant isn't allowed to see anyone just yet." Mr. Gold was becoming very frustrated. Emma had been quite persistent and called him every day to check in. Mr. Gold had the feeling that she didn't quite trust him and was therefore ever on his case. The daily phone calls were irritating him to no end, although he secretly admired this strong-willed woman. Brant sure didn't pick the easiest character…. but she would definitely hold her own in their lively and dynamic family.

"I want to discuss this with him, especially if I, preferably if we, decide to keep the baby."

"You are seriously considering that… even with the baby's dad in rehab?"

"Isn't that a good thing? It means he is working on his issues, right?"

"Emma," Mr. Gold began, "Brant didn't go willingly. We, the family, we kind of bullied him into it. Forced him you might say…"

"That's just tough love though, isn't it? That doesn't matter. He is there, that is the good news, and he needs to know about this situation! I want to make this decision with him, not without him!"

Hearing the agitation in Emma's voice softened Mr. Gold's heart a little. "Very well, you can come with me then. The first visit will be by his mother and her husband. A mother's prerogative so to speak…" Milah's words, not his. "The second will be mine, and if you insist…"

"I do!"

"..you can come with me," he finished with a big sigh. It felt as if he did nothing but give in to the women around him lately.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely. "You've no idea how much it means to me."

"I think I can imagine… So, in return, I expect you to put in a good word for me with Brant. He seems to take all his anger out on me and I would very much like to know what I can do to change that."

"Of course, I will. Thank you. He does seem to have a chip on his shoulder regarding you."

"Do you have any idea why?" Mr. Gold figured he might as well go on a fishing trip into his son's admissions about his relationship with his father. Girlfriends tended to know more than parents…

The line stayed silent for a while. "Emma, are you still there?"

"Yes, I am thinking. Sorry… I guess it has something to do with his childhood. The divorce maybe? I don't really know…"

That didn't help. Mr. Gold wondered if she was lying. Surely his girlfriend must know something? He wavered a moment…Should he put the thumbscrews on right now or wait 'till they had a road trip together? He decided the last option was the best.

* * *

The next thing on Mr. Gold's to-do list on this free Saturday was to seek out this Gus fellow that had been harassing Belle. Apparently the guy couldn't take no for an answer. He sounded like a real prick, but perhaps a useful one. Gus' slightly criminal history might have an appealing side as well. Having obtained his address, Mr. Gold drove to his neighborhood. Most of the houses could use a coat of fresh paint and some of them had broken windows or dripping roofs. Gus' house wasn't any different.

"Hello? Anyone home?" Mr. Gold knocked on the door but received no response. He bashed his cane on the door for a stronger effect. Soon a unshaven head came shouting from an upper window.

"Who are you?! What do you want?"

"You are Gus? Or Gaston?" Mr. Gold asked, not in the least bit intimidated.

"Who wants to know?" he answered with dark and peering eyes.

"My name is Mr. Gold. I am Belle's employer and according to her, you have been pestering her. I came here to sort that out…"

"Belle said what?! What, are you a cop or something?"

"Hardly… I can be worse than a cop though…" His soft voice couldn't hide the menace behind it.

Gus laughed loudly. This little man, with a limp, thought he could scare him! Ha! "I'll take my chances," he sneered.

"Have it your way then. See if I care." Mr. Gold moved back to his car.

"Wait! What do you mean, worse than a cop?"

"Oh, so you are interested…."

"I didn't say that…."

"Well, let me see…. I have my resources, financial and otherwise. I know a guy or two who can easily sort out any… problems. Former Hells Angels, boxers and such… They are willing to do more or less anything, for the right price." He let out a high pitched chuckle. "I'd sure like to see what they could do to you; it would be quite the spectacle."

"Who are you?! What do you have against me?"

"Let me just say that I look after my own. It took me a long time to get a proper maid. I'd hate to lose her over such a silly thing as a certain abusive ex-husband…." The emasculating remark made Gus seethe with fury but he didn't bite. Mr. Gold smiled. So far, so good.


	10. Victories

AN: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Chapter 10: Victories

Mr. Gold had managed to talk Gus downstairs. After a long chat, they were seated in his living room, both sipping their beer. "So we have an arrangement then?"

"It's a deal!" Gus laughed and raised his beer can.

"Good, very good. It's been nice doing business with you." Mr. Gold rose and grabbed his cane, ready to leave the premises.

"You too! You too, Mr. Gold." Gus was staring lovingly at the heap of cash lying on his table: a heap that had continued to grow magically during the length of their conversation.

Remembering the old proverb of flies, honey, and vinegar, Mr. Gold had altered his strategy. Gus' skills might become handy in the future and money could buy almost anything.

"Why don't we continue our talk in your living room?" Mr. Gold had said as his neck started to ache from looking up at the window.

Gus had laughed and answered that midgets weren't welcome. Mr. Gold had replied that he needed to sit, because of his leg, and that he was one particular rich midget who could offer him a deal. Gus had narrowed his eyes again in suspicion, but had come running down the stairs, almost tripping in hurry when Mr. Gold had taken his wallet out of his pocket and started pulling nice crispy notes from it.

"So you'll leave Belle alone from now on…" Mr. Gold had confirmed the details of their deal.

"If I must… It's a pity though, she's one hell of a woman."

"I couldn't agree more which is why I am currently dating her." Mr. Gold hadn't mind pretending, somewhat prematurely, to be Belle's new lover.

"You… you are dating her?" Gus did not like that!

"Is that a problem? We just made a deal, didn't we…? I could call my buddies and enforce it, but I suppose you'll prefer the money…."

Gaston had eyed the money and whistled through his teeth—a tough decision—but then he answered resentfully: "Suppose so.. I guess I can't blame her from moving up in the world…"

"And so will you! You are on my payroll now, and I look well after my friends…" He had given Gus a pat on his back. "You wouldn't have anything to drink now, would you?

Life was good, Mr. Gold thought as he walked back to his car: with Gus on his payroll, Belle almost in his pocket—or so he hoped anyway—it was Mr. Gold's turn to whistle a song… and so he did.

* * *

"Belle, Belle, where are you?" After a lengthy search through the mansion on this sunny Saturday afternoon, he finally located Belle in the wine cellar.

"This hasn't been cleaned in ages…" He heard her mumble when he came in. "Oh, Mr. Gold, I didn't see you there…"

"You're right, of course, the wine cellar usually isn't any maid's priority. More's the pity because it is a room I frequent…" He smiled his crooked smile and Belle returned the gesture.

"I have some news for you… I've talked to Gus and he promised to leave you alone!" Mr. Gold said with enthusiasm, but Belle couldn't believe it quite so easily.

"Just like that?!"

"Just like that..." He stayed silent for a few seconds under her scrutinizing gaze. "Well, I might have given him some incentive…and I might have made a few minor..," he held his fingers close together yet slightly apart, "very minor threats." He smiled again, mischievous and boyish.

Belle laughed derisively. "Money, a new car? Something like that, right?" She sighed. "So that's what I am worth to him, ha?"

"Belle, Belle, I understand it hurts and makes you angry… But you are free of him now! That's great, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course. It's just… I was married to him. I got a divorce but he still wouldn't let me be… and now I am given up for money? I bet it wasn't even much…"

"One man's boat is another man's yacht. Or is it the other way round? I can't remember…," he chuckled. "It was plenty for him, but you are worth far more, definitely!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes, indeed."

"I am priceless." Belle said, smiling slightly, though still a little sad.

"You are. You really are…" Mr. Gold stepped a little closer, wanting to embrace her.

"Mr. Gold?"

"Yes?"

"I'm covered in cobwebs…" she seemed flustered. He looked at her and stepped back.

"So you are, I see… Hmm, tell you what? Let's celebrate! Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight? You could leave early and change…"

She hesitated. He held his breath. Her answer was timid and defiantly at the same time. "Yes, I think I will, Mr. Gold. Saves me from clearing the dishes…."

* * *

Brant had been silent for several group sessions but not this time. Somehow the therapist, Archie, had found his buttons and pushed them. Like a broken vending machine, the words had rolled out of his mouth. His need to impress, his dad, his stepdad, his coach, his girlfriend, his team members—the list went on and on—had caused severe pressure and anxiety. A little help was appreciated and consequently provided by his coach. His parents liked to drink and he didn't really see the difference anyway…

His dad's DUI and his mother's scorn over that, had led him to believe that perfection was everything. Finding her in cahoots with Kenny had been quite the eye-opener. His mother, however, did not give in and pursued her son's affections relentlessly. His father's long hours—which had said disinterest to a teenage Brant—and his mother's tell-tales about his father had slowly created a rift between him and his father. One particular story had hardened his heart and his memories of that day had returned after his mom's nudging and prodding…

However, he would not discuss that fatal day. Archie had to admit that they had hit a stone wall on that subject, for the time being. He complimented Brant with his willingness to share but did add that real recovery might include revealing that particular bit as well. Brant nodded, but wasn't going to give in. Perhaps he could talk to Emma about it….


	11. Progress?

AN: Perhaps fancy restaurants and Belle are not the best match….

* * *

Chapter 11: Progress?

Belle was waiting outside her house for Mr. Gold's car to arrive. She would be picked up around eight and taken to one of the nicest restaurants in town. Belle was slightly nervous; she was worried about her dress not being classy enough and about table manners as well, remembering only too clearly Mr. Gold's glee at those of his ex-wife and her husband. A neighbor was walking her dog, an old golden retriever, and began to chat with her. They discussed her date—was it a date?—their work and the dog's health.

"Wow, Belle, is that it?" she pointed at a shiny black limousine that slowly turned around the corner.

"No, it can't be…. I'm sure it's in the wrong street…" she answered. Surely he wouldn't have?

"Well, sweetie, it seems to be stopping…" her grey-haired neighbor replied, with a wink and smiling eyes. "Enjoy your youth while you can dear!" she said in encouragement as Belle hesitantly entered the car.

The ride was very odd to say the least. Belle had never set foot in a limo before. It made her highly uncomfortable, although it was very nice. She made some pictures with her battered cell phone, otherwise no-one would believe her!

* * *

Gus was drinking his money away in a shady bar. Mr. Gold had generously offered a little job for him. He was to find his way into the warehouses where the drugs were supposedly stored. Preferably through some of his friends or acquaintances. If he could manage to secure himself a place as one of the ladies' employees, or rely on someone to let him and a few others inside the building, he would be richly rewarded. More than royally, Mr. Gold had said. He might even be able to retire on it, should he live carefully. Gus grinned. Like that was going to happen!

One of his drinking buddies approached him. "This isn't your usual spot?" he asked.

"Didn't you use to work for one of those warehouses…? The ones that are on the city's demolition list?" Gus wasn't very subtle about it…

"Yeah, yeah… I was fired. Too interested in the merchandise…" his friend laughed, displaying the gaps in his mouth where once teeth had resided. Gus laughed along. He knew that his friend would soon start bragging. All he had to do was listen and learn….

As the evening progressed, Gus knew who to approach for a job at the warehouse. Apparently the ladies weren't very hands-on about the everyday running of things as they were more interested in the public image of themselves. As sponsors of various causes they'd be plastered on promotional materials and generally had the best seats at events, however, the actual work was done by their right hand man, George, also known as The King. Ruthless and smart, greedy and dishonorable, yet extremely loyal to his two employers. Gus would have a word with him, tomorrow or the day after, but tonight… Tonight was for drinking.

* * *

Mr. Gold waited for Belle on the curb, outside of the restaurant. When she finally appeared, she took his breath away. He'd only ever seen her in her maid's uniform and the clothes she wore at the interview; nothing that could have prepared him for this. The silky black—or was it dark grey—tight dress suited her perfectly. A tiny bow, almost like it was tied, connected two halves on one shoulder, whereas the other was bare, apart from a tattoo. Mr. Gold peered at it in a stolen glance, but couldn't make out what it was. It was too delicate too make out the words underneath, but pretty visisble as a whole nevertheless.

"My dear Belle, how was the ride?" he asked as he offered her his hand to get out of the car.

"Amazing and very surreal.." she replied. She seemed a bit shy as she looked up at him and the place she had been taken to. "Like this.." Belle gestured at the restaurant. "I feel like Cinderella at the ball…."

"So you want to leave at midnight?" he quipped. "Or do I resemble Prince Charming?"

"At least you're not a frog," she blurted out.

"Mixed fairy tales, my dear…."

He took her arm as they entered the softly lit dining palace. Mr. Gold had reserved a place on the balcony overseeing the fountain in the garden.

"This is a lovely view. How did you arrange all this in one afternoon?" she asked, a little stunned.

"Let's just say, I'm well connected. Or you could also say that if this were sports, I own a season ticket. I eat here all the time so they're pretty familiar with my face…" As an afterthought he added: "and tips."

"So this is what I am competing against when I make your meals?" Belle wondered. She was pleased that she was here, yet startled that he—quite likely—would be comparing her food to that of some chef in a three-star-restaurant.

"Your meals are prepared with… dare I say it?...love whereas these meals are prepared with the best ingredients but may lack.. a more personal touch," he answered diplomatically.

Belle laughed. "Nice save, mister!"

"Belle, perhaps you could call me by my name tonight? We're here as… at least not as employer and employee." He was just a little too shy to call it a date, in case she wouldn't want to call it that. He had framed it as an celebratory—my ex will no longer bother me—dinner after all.

"You'll have to tell me then," she replied, looking into his eyes. They were very warm and sensual she suddenly noticed.

"Yes, about that… I don't really like it much myself, although the meaning is quite nice…"

"Surely it can't be that bad…" She was curious now.

"It's a bit of a classic name, I guess," he said, "Rupert."

"That's alright, isn't it? I thought it would be something awful like Bunny or something…" Belle started to laugh a little too loudly—blasted nerves— which caused a few heads to turn and whisper. She didn't pay any attention to it but Mr. Gold did. "So what does it mean anyway?" she asked.

"Bright fame, or shining."

"That's pretty cool. Just like you were my knight in shining armor with Gus. Gaston actually. That's funny, I guess, I do tend to date men with fancy names…" She started giggling pretty loud again and Mr. Gold, Rupert, became even more embarrassed.

"Belle!" he chided her, although her use of the word date gladdened his heart.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm nervous. I've never been to a place like this before and all the rules and stuff…" she hiccupped, looking miserable and embarrassed as well.

Just when Mr. Gold thought it couldn't get any worse, a waiter approached them carrying some sort of cloth? "Excuse me, sir, madam…" he began. "I've been asked to provide a stole for the lady. We have a no tattoo policy here." He handed Belle the black shawl and walked away before they could protest.

Belle was dumbfounded and Rupert was angry and upset. This was not the perfect evening that he had planned or imagined. Belle seemed put off and they hadn't even ordered yet.

He made a rapid decision. "What do you say about us getting out of here?" he whispered as he bowed forward.

"Gladly," she replied as she stood up and dumped the scarf on the seat.

"Grab a burger somewhere?" Rupert suggested.

"Yes please!" Belle grinned as they walked out of the beautiful surroundings.

"You must let me have a closer look at that tattoo sometime…" he teased her.

Belle giggled again. "Be warned though; it is in fact hideous…."

They ducked into the limo and went in search of lesser food and surroundings, yet feeling far more comfortable.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the reviews!


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